


I'll Bring You the Sun

by rocket_cat



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Gen, Molestation, Murder, On the Run, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, This sounds so awful and dark but I promise it's not, guess what marco and ymir and step-siblings, lots of pancakes for my girls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4160037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocket_cat/pseuds/rocket_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ymir is on the run from a past full of terrible secrets she knows she can't escape- that is until she runs into actual Disney princess Krista at an airport at 5 am in New York, who happens to have her own closet full of skeletons. Together they make their way across the country searching for something that might be better than the crappy lives they've already gone through.<br/>-<br/>Or, the story of:<br/>A Swedish girl who loves words<br/>Rapunzel<br/>A step brother<br/>One car crash<br/>And an ever-running away sun</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 缘分 (yuanfen)  
> (n.)  
> A relationship by fate or destiny; the binding force between two people

When I was little and my mama and I still lived in Sweden, she would wake me up every morning at five and we'd drive out of town and watch the sunrise. She would pack up cups of coffee and hot chocolate and we'd spend the 15 minute drive in out old Volvo talking about my days in Sunday school. My tiny five-year-old brain thought I was chasing the sun. Or maybe it was bringing itself to me, mile by mile. Either way it was metaphorical. Like it was saying anything was possible. We could live in Sweden forever, just me and Mama; happy. I could own the sun. 

As I stand beside the windows at a dingy airport in New York, I realize that maybe the sun isn't coming to me. If anything it's getting farther away. It's just a speck of brightness on the horizon, peeking out from behind the wing of jetliner.

I glance down to my phone to check the time. 4:56 a.m. It hasn't left my hands since I left home. Nor has anything else that I have on me, which all together are a duffel bag and my old backpack from high school. They hold my last few possessions, and there's no way that I'm letting anyone steal them. Not now.

It's been 12 years since Sweden. My mama met a man at her job when I was seven, and by the time my eighth birthday had rolled around, they were already married and we were moving back to where he lived: America. 

 _'It'll be beautiful my baby,'_  she would tell me every night leading up to the dreaded plane trip overseas. 

 _Yeah mama,_ real _beautiful._ I think now, scuffing my shoe against the tiles of the floor. 

My mama is widowed. But she doesn't know that yet. When she gets home later, after her night shift at the supermarket, she'll open the door and scream at the sight of her  _beloved_  husband's blood all over our kitchen floor. Or maybe Marco will have gotten home first. 

He's my step-brother, but we could be twins. When his father married Mama, and I first met him, it was like looking in a mirror. We were the same age; his hair had parted down the center, and a splatter of freckles covered his nose and cheeks. Mama had no problem lying to the pastor at church about how we were related. Now he grows his hair out longer, and wears god awful  _guy-liner_ but that doesn't stop him from trying to be the best big brother he could be.

Marco visits on the weekends, and if he comes home early with donuts and orange juice, like he normally does, he'll see the body first. I know Marco enough to know that he won't panic, but he will text me. And then he'll call the cops. Marco knows what his father has done to me. 

And last night. 

It was almost eleven when he came home, drunk and probably loaded. The door slammed and he yelled out my name, and then there was the clinking of his belt buckle, and  _I swear_. You would've thought that after ten years of this shit, I wouldn't be scared anymore, but when he drinks like that even Mama cries out of fear sometimes. He's never  _ever_  hit Mama. 

I was in the kitchen faster than I could ever remember, and then he was screaming at me for god knows what reason, and there was the sound of his belt again and the zipper on his jeans, and  _no he was not doing this again._  And then I panicked. The drawer with the knives in it was right next to me and I yanked it open, took the first one my hand touched. I tried to warn him. 

_Not anymore Papa. Please._

And then I remember him lying on the ground in front of the fridge, the front of his shirt soaked with blood. I remember washing my hands off in the bathroom sink, and then trying to shove everything I owned into my duffel and searching the house for enough money to get the fuck out of this state. 

A plane's engine starts up and then takes off in the corner of the window. I wipe the back of my hand across my cheeks and check the time again. 5:01 a.m. My plane is supposed to leave at 6:00 for Dallas. Then Los Angeles from there. Hopefully Marco will find his father first and he'll leave me a little time before I become a wanted criminal.

 I twist on my heels to see who else is in the airport. There are barely any people here and I don't expect there to be. It's not even daylight yet. A woman and her child sit in front of me, half asleep, and a middle-aged man charges his laptop in a far off chair, but other than that, no one. A girl makes her way to us from the hall way where the food court is holding a hot coffee. She's maybe sixteen, and chipper, with a slight bounce in her step as she walks toward us. Happier than the rest of us in here, who all look like we could kill a man for being up at this ungodly hour.

Well,  _another_ man. 

But she seems friendly enough, and my legs are aching from being stood on for the last twenty minutes, so I decide to sit next to her. I leave a one chair gap between us.

"Nice day to take a trip out, huh?" 

She has a slight accent, of maybe it's a lisp. It's cute.

"Oh, uh yeah. The sunrise is real pretty." The sun has rose up a bit more, painting the sky bright purple.

"Of course. It's always pretty at this time. Oh I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Krista." She stretches an arm across the seat between and a piece of her blonde hair hits my wrist. I notice that her hair is so long compared to mine, which barely reaches my shoulders. 

"Ymir." Her fingers slip against mine perfectly as we shake hands, and I try to give her the best smile I can muster up. It's probably more like a grimace.

"That's different. What is it, Finnish? Swedish?"

"Norse, actually. But I'm from Sweden. My brother calls me Freckleface."

She lets out a soft laugh, something that sounds like winter bells. 

"It's beautiful."

Fuck. I've known Krista for less than five minutes and I think I'm already in love with the girl. Ymir you stupid lesbian. 

We sit there and talk the entire time while I wait for my plane to arrive. Krista has a teeny-tiny wild streak in her, something that makes me think that she probably dyed her hair blue in the eighth grade, when she dares me to mess with the old guy on his computer. I tell her I can't do it, so she does instead. It's 5:45 when she finally asks me what flight I’m taking, still giggling over her schoolgirl prank.

"So where you headed to, Ymir?"

I panic for half a second. What do I tell her? Oh, you know, I'm moving half way across the country because I just killed my step-father. No big deal. 

"I'm visiting family in L.A."

I'm pretty sure I have a cousin whose name I never bothered learning who lives in that area. He's super tall, with a super hot girlfriend and a degree for movie making. And besides, in ten minutes, I'll on a plane to Dallas, and I'll probably never see Krista again, so I'm sure he won't mind if I use him for a tiny little lie. 

"Oh wow!" Oh no. "Are you catching the 6 o'clock Dallas plane?"

Oh no. NO. This isn't happening. 

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I check to see who it is. A text from Marco.

_I know what happened Mimi. Get out of here._

My thumbs scramble across the screen to type out a respond

_I'm so sorry_

Oh thank god. Thank god Marco found him, and not Mama. Tiny, fragile Mama who couldn't cook our first thanksgiving dinner in America because the dead turkey made her too upset. 

"Um, yeah I am. But I'm not-I have to get out of here." Okay, I have to be a little honest.

Something snaps a little in Krista. When I look back from my phone to her, she's aged at least ten years. And I don't even know how old she is. Maybe she knows what I've done.

"Are you okay?" She asks. God, my face must show something, because she's talking to me like a little kid. 

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. I had a rough night, 's all."

"Listen you're-" Krista takes a shaky breathe and scans the floor with her eyes. "You're going to think I'm crazy. Like complete psycho crazy, but I'm kind of in trouble. And I think you are too."

No. No Krista. I'm not listening to you now. You were nice and cute and funny, but I don't need your pity parade.

"I have my Buick in the back. And it's not too late to refund our tickets. Do you want to leave with me?"

What the fuck.

This girl is insane. 

My mind races with all of the ways this could go so wrong, but honestly all I can think about is how I just sat down an hour ago to talk to some girl in the middle of an airport and all she wanted to do is talk to me about the sunrise. 

And she feels a bit like Sweden, and home. As creepy as that is.

I glance around the room, to the windows, then to Krista, and then slowly I nod. Okay, I am so down with being stowaways. Runaways. Whatever. As long as it's with her. 

With a ton more confidence and energy I could ever have on a morning like this Krista gets up from her seat and puts a hand out for me. 

"C'mon. We'll be like partners in crime. I'll tell you why later." I grab her hand and my duffel bag and we make our way toward the exit doors. "But really, Ymir, I've gotta get out of here too. And preferably before sunrise. 

My phone buzzes one more time once we're in the parking lot. Marco again. If only I could tell him what kind of adventure I'm going on. I check his message just before my phone tells me it's about to die.

_I'm not telling anyone, Mimi_

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logophile  
> (n.)  
> a lover of words
> 
> OR.
> 
> Resfeber  
> (n.)  
> the restless race of the travelers heart before the journey begins, when anxiety and anticipation are tangled together; a 'travel fever' that can manifest as an illness

This girl is crazy. Crazy, but she has a nice car. In all of the twenty years of my life, the only car I've ever driven is Marco's old Civic. This thing is too precious to be around me. Krista's Buick is shiny and bright red and I am honestly afraid to even touch it, let alone get inside and make myself comfy. 

"Are you sure you're allowed to drive this?" I ask her. 

"Oh yeah," The early morning glow presses against her face. "I own it."

What.

Okay, I'm used to young kids driving around their daddy's cars while in high school, but there is no way Krista  _owns_ this car. It probably costs more than our whole apartment. 

"Wait, no you can't _own_ this," I correct her. "How old are you? What am I getting into with you?"

As the minutes of the day tick by, maybe a little bit of my senses are coming back to me. Maybe Krista  _is_ insane. 

She unlocks the doors, then turns to me, an eyebrow raised.

"I'm eighteen. And I told you I'd explain everything later. But you still have seven minutes before your plane leaves, if you want to go."

Surprisingly, she doesn't seem hurt that I might leave. I'm flattering myself too much;  _of course_ she wouldn't be hurt. She barely knows me, and I barely know her, and if we were to part ways now, no harm would be done to either of us. But I shake my head anyways and place a hand out to open the passenger door.

"No, okay. I'm coming. But you have to explain these things to me." Because my issues are probably bigger than yours. 

She nods, her yellow hair bouncing over her shoulders. God it's so long. Like Rapunzel's. Maybe she really is a princess and all of this is just one big dream and I'll wake up in a second still in bed waiting for Papa to come home. But probably not. Because princesses don't have cute speech problems and fancy cars, and knights in shining armor don't come out as me. Gender or otherwise. 

The door I'm holding onto pops open with ease, and I slide myself in; legs first. I toss my duffel into the back seat, where it lays next to a suitcase, which must be Krista's.

"So, where to first?" She asks after her door is shut, and the keys are in. 

"Um, food, I guess? But keep it like McDonald's or something; I haven't got a lot on me."

She nods twice, before turning her attention to the road. I guess the fact that I might only have 400 dollars on me, at the most doesn't faze her. There's maybe an extra 400 in my bank account, and that's if it's been collecting interest, but what Krista doesn't know won't hurt her. 

We ride in silence for a good fifteen minutes, before Krista starts talking again. 

"So tell me something about yourself. I mean, we better start getting to know each other just in case you end up hating me later on. Better now than then, right?" Then she laughs a little, and I can't help but crack a small smile as well. Oh no, Krista, I could never hate you.

And then my mind turns blank. What is there about me? Sweden is too sacred to talk about, at least right now. And everything from there on is just normal, besides Papa. But I wouldn't tell her about him anyway. 

"I like words. Sorry, that's kind of lame." I can feel my cheeks start to burn out of embarrassment. Oh  _god,_ I’m going to tell her the word story.

"No it's not. It sounds different, tell me about it."

"Well when I was in the fifth grade I had this teacher," Mrs. Ral, but she made us all call her by her first name, Petra. She was also my first actual crush, but I wouldn't be able to admit that until four years down the road, when I told Marco on our first day of freshman year.

"And she had this book, y'know those ones that have a quote for each day, but this one had a bunch of really weird words in it. One's from all different languages and countries and stuff. She said she had made it herself, which was really neat. And I'd read from it every day, because I was a huge nerd and thought it was cool. I guess I just started to fall in love with them over time." 

Petra had tried pushing me into writing when she discovered my interest in words, but when they started to come down on the paper, they didn't flow as well as they did when they tumbled out of my mouth. I hated the way they looked, sentences like _She was filled with euphoria_ and poems about nature. Bells were meant to be reserved for Edgar Allan Poe, not Ymir the Freak who sat at the back of the class and picked at her fingers until they bled. 

Petra was also one of the first people I wanted to tell about Papa, but something inside me wanted to make sure that his crime sounded beautiful to her ears and I soon figured out that  _molestation_ had no wonderful substitute. I exited the fifth grade and never told her. 

"Wow, that's  _eccentric._ " Krista's high pitched giggles pull me out of my past daydream. "Sorry, that was a crappy joke. But really that is cool. I never got interested in stuff like that. Did you ever write, too?"

"No. I liked the words, not the sentences."

"Well, I still think it's great. Really, I never got interested in anything growing up. I guess I was too far away from anybody to really  _like_ anything. But there used to be this painting in our maid's room that I thought was the most beautiful thing ever. I guess I started to like art for a little bit, but when she left, she took the picture with her and that was it."

Whoa, wait a  _maid?_ I might not be the most educated person in the world but I know that normal middle-class people do not have maids. 

"You had a maid?"

Krista pauses for a second, her eyes looking straight out the windshield, almost emotionless. "Yeah."

I can tell that she's ended our conversation. I'm a little bothered, but I can see the arches of a McDonald's sign nearby, and if us not talking means me getting some food in me, then so be it.  

We both get milkshakes and large fries and then sit in the parking lot of an old park and eat. Krista went through the drive-through thank god, because I know that cops like to hang out around here, and it's been long enough since Papa that the paranoia has began to settle in. 

Krista also seems to have a worried look on her face when a state trooper passes by us, which is a little unnerving. Something about her makes it seem like maybe she's on the run as well. But I don't think now is the time to pressure her into telling me. 

"So where are we going exactly?" I ask. 

"Wherever. Far hopefully, if you're okay with that."

I nod a few times before turning my attention back to my shake. A few minutes pass by and soon enough Krista has started the ignition back up and is driving back onto the main road.

"Tell me about your brother." Krista snaps me out of my daze.

"Oh, he's uh. I don't know, he's a huge nerd. His name's Marco." What else is there to tell her? She seems so interested in me, in who I am, but there's nothing to provide her with. "He's my step-brother. We're close."

"That sounds nice. Having a brother, I mean. One that's there."

"You don't have siblings?"

"I have five. All half brothers and sisters." She lets out a sarcastic laugh. Something twisted and all wrong for her. "They all hated me." 

Oh.

What do you say back to that? 

"Um, 'm sorry." I mutter.

"It's okay. The feelings were mutual, and anyways they're all gone now, so it's whatever." 

They're gone now. She doesn't make it seem like they just skipped out and went to college and they all never spoke again. There's something missing out of the big picture that must be Krista's life, but she hasn't said it yet. She just keeps dropping subtle hints that say _Yeah, my life was shit._

"Well, good riddance to them." It's not what I would normally tell someone about their family, but Krista seems comfortable enough with it. She repeats it back to me with a tight smile. 

"Good riddance." 

Now's my time to try and change the subject. 

"When do you think we'll be out of New York?"

"About an hour. Maybe two. We'll be in New Jersey in no time."

Great. I've been to New Jersey once, to go to summer camp when I was thirteen, and if I was honest, it's a lot better than New York. Maybe it was just the feel of being somewhere different, and not trapped in the same neighborhood my whole life, but if I had to move somewhere it'd probably be there.

The sun if now fully out and shining down on us. Krista tells me how to turn on the air conditioner and the radio, and then we're officially off. Off onto an unknowingly criminal road trip. I plug my phone into her car charger and try to get a hold of Marco, just to waste time. I spend a good five minutes messing around and playing games while trying to decide if I should call him or not. It'd be a very, very dangerous call; but worth it. Finally I make up my mind, and press on my recent contacts before I can tell myself no again. 

The phone doesn't even get to ring once before his voice comes out on the other end. 

"Where the hell are you?"

"Going to New Jersey." I try to sound casual, though I can already feel my heart beating faster. What if he's told somebody about me? What a traitor. 

"Okay." He's silent for a second, maybe trying to calm himself down. "Are you safe?"

I glance over to Krista who doesn't seem to think anything is wrong. People enjoy phone calls with their siblings all the time. 

"Yeah, of course. Met someone out."

"You  _met_ someone?"

"She's okay. We're okay. Are you?" I have to stop and think that I might've eliminated someone who's hurt me for the last ten years, but Marco just lost his father. And that's my fault. 

"Yes, I'm okay. I didn't lose anyone important, Mimi, alright?"

I hum back a response then tell him I have to go. I'll text him later. As much as I love Marco, limited contact with him from now on will be better for both of us. I dump my phone into the center console, and get comfy into my seat. I figure we'll probably be driving for a while, and I thank god that I don't get carsick easily. 

I was right, to an extent. Krista drives us all morning and afternoon through New Jersey, stopping here and there for gas and munchies. We go to a tiny diner somewhere around four o'clock for hamburgers and more milkshakes. A TV like the ones they have in crappy hotels sits in the corner of the room, with the news blaring out of it. I watch it carefully, just in case something about me or Papa comes up. There was a nature disaster a few towns over, and a story about a local animal adoption center, but nothing with my face on it. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, and get back to eating. I know eventually I'll pop up somewhere, but at least this gives me another day to escape without someone recognizing me. Marco's told someone by now, I know it, but I also know that he's probably lied a lot as well. It's likely that he's made up some story about him coming home and his dad was murdered and it was probably a robber or worse. Not his precious little sister. I can hear his voice now in my head, _She's missing too, I think whoever killed my father must've hurt her as well._ And then he'd wipe away a few fake tears. Marco always was a good liar.

Somewhere around seven, Krista decides to finally stop and pull into a Best Western Hotel. I start to protest, tell her I don't really have anything to cover this with, but she stops me before I can open my mouth. 

"I've got it covered. Just promise to buy me breakfast tomorrow." Then she flashes me a toothy grin and gets out of the car. I stay in while she rents us a room, trying to figure out who this girl is, where she came from, and how the hell she isn't running out of money by now. I don't get it,  _I don't get her._ She's definitely something else.

Krista returns fifteen minutes later, with a room key and two Cokes. She tells me we're in room 59 and I volunteer to take some of our stuff up with us. It's the least I can do for her. 

"You're going to tell me about yourself during breakfast tomorrow, right?" I try to push her into agreeing. 

"Sure! It's a long story. But I think you'll get it." 

Our room is modest, and yet, it's still fancier than anything I've ever stayed in. There's a Harry Potter marathon on TV and Krista announces that she's going to take a shower while I watch The Goblet of Fire. While she's in the bathroom, I start to unpack my stuff, to get to the bottom of my duffel. There are some clothes, a few books, an extra pair of shoes, and my small pouch of makeup. But none of that is really what concerns me right now. 

When I get to the bottom, my hand hits something both hard, and soft. I know what it is, but even so many hours later I'm still afraid to look directly at it. Almost a full 24-hours earlier the item in my hand had been jammed into Papa's chest. And then again, and again, until I felt safe. The knife is wrapped around an old shirt, and I start to unwrap it, still in the bottom of my duffel. It doesn't deserve to see the light. (But I don't either, really) But then I hear the water from the shower shut off, and I quickly toss my stuff back into my bag, and throw it to the end of the bed. 

When Krista finally comes out, her hair is wrapped up in a towel and she's wearing Captain America pajamas, and for a second this almost feels normal, like we're two friends taking an actual trip out of town. She makes me feel a little less like a murderer and a little more like a person. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Convivencia  
> (n.)  
> lit. "living together", in the sense of living or working closely with other people with whom you share feelings, desires, or a common purpose

The next morning, Krista wakes me up early to pack our stuff and leave. It's barely the crack of dawn,  _jesus,_ how does she function so early in the day? This girl has to be jacked up on cocaine, I  _swear._  Before we walk out the door, both room keys sitting on the desk, she asks me what I want for breakfast. 

"You're paying remember? So make it a good place." She jokes before jumping in an elevator. 

"I like Denny's I guess." I smile back to Krista, trying to make it genuine. 

There's a Denny's a few miles down the road from where we were staying, and it takes us no time at all to get there. The woman behind the desk smiles brightly at us, and I wonder if this is the end of her night shift, and she's just on her fifth cup of coffee. I'm about to ask her how tired she, something Mama probably would've scolded me for even at my age, but then I remember. This is it; Krista is going to tell me about herself. Who cares about our waitress, this is a huge leap for us. I've been on the road for two days now with her and all I know is that she's an actual Disney princess with a couple of shitty siblings. Part of me really hopes that maybe she's actually got a problem going on and isn't just out with me for "adventure" or whatever. At least then we'd have something in common. 

When we sit down, our waitress introduces herself as  _Mina_ and brings us both coffees. Krista drowns hers with sugar and creamer, and then tries to order cheap. I think she's gotten the clue that I'm pretty much broke. 

"So, Ymir. What do you want to know?" She asks over the rim of her coffee cup.

"I don't care. I want to know why you're told me to come with you."

"Well, I didn't tell you to come. You chose to. But anyways, I guess-" She pauses for a second, looks out the window, then continues. "My father disowned me after I told him I liked girls, so I just ran away."

No shit. This is my lucky day. Real actual princess Krista is lesbian. Fantastic. I could kiss her; I'm elated. 

"But before that," 

Oh no, she's going to drop a huge bomb on me. I distract myself by adding in a few sugar packets to my coffee. It tastes gross now, but it's keeping me busy.

"I grew up rich. My dad was a senator, so we had _everything_. We owned a huge house up in Chicago, and I went to this private Catholic school until I was fifteen."

I laugh a little at the thought of Krista at a Catholic school. Fooling all those nuns the whole time. 

"So what happened? Why'd you leave? Why were you in New York?" My curiosity is getting the better of me.

"My mom moved me there a couple years ago. A lot of crap happened between me and my dad, so she 'removed me from the premises' At least, that's what the court papers say." She sighs and pauses for a moment while Mina comes around with our food. 

"What happened?" I repeat. Krista stops for a second to take a huge bite out of her pancakes, and then continues.

"My dad was married already. Had a couple kids before and after me,"

"You’re siblings, right?"

"You got it. My mother was our maid. Dad had an affair with her when she got hired and had me. I'm a middle child, so of course that was difficult in itself. And Dad's original wife, oh man. She _hated_ me. She'd beat the shit out me if I did something she didn't like, or whatever. And of course the law never got involved, because who wants to arrest the Senator for child neglect?"

Oh shit. Krista and I come from the same places. I can't believe she can talk about it so easily though. Every time I and Mama or Marco started to talk about Papa, I'd start to clam up and stutter. My school counselor tried talking to me about it once, but I told her I had anxiety and that it wasn't her place to ask me questions that could send me into a panic attack. The woman hated me and I was suspended for two days _for defending myself_. What a load of crap. 

"That's harsh." I tell her. Then I think about it, and maybe Krista could be trusted enough to tell her a little about Papa. "My mama married a man who beat on me too."

Krista muffles out a _damn_ through a mouth full of bacon.

"Yeah, it started when I was ten. He still does, so I finally left everyone. I think I'm going to miss Marco the most."

"Your brother right? I miss Frieda. She was the oldest of all of us, and the only one who didn't want me dead. Loved me more than my own mother."

"Why don't you live with her?"

"She died a few years ago. She had cancer." Krista plays with the remaining bits of food that are on her plate. Maybe it's a touchy subject for her, but I know enough body language to figure that Frieda probably didn't die of an illness. 

I don't tell her sorry, because it feels like that's too insignificant. Sorry doesn't seem to fix losing your favorite sister, and I'm sure Krista's had to deal with enough people telling her bullshit sympathy over her death already. I've been to taught to not open up other people’s wounds. And don't make them bigger. 

We eat the rest of our meal in silence. Krista gets us extra cups of to-go coffee, and I pay the bill for us, then we set back out for the road. I have a feeling that we won't staying in New Jersey. This is going to become a full cross-country trip.

We go across a highway and Krista asks me,

"Should we go West or South?"

"Southwest." Then I smile and giggle; it sounds so foreign to me, but I hope with Krista around it stays. I could use a little laughter of my own. 

We make it across two states in record speed, and almost land in a third, when Krista drives off a freeway and into a small town. We stop to eat dinner at a Chinese restaurant, then make home at a dingy motel. We unload our stuff, and then Krista tells me she'll be back in twenty minutes, to find a grocery store and pick up some TV dinners. I yell at her to get me some Oreos as she shuts the door behind her. Man, living with a rich girl really had its perks.

I flip on the TV, to try and find something worth watching, but there are only about ten channels to watch. I'm five minutes into watching a new episode of Bob's Burgers, when a commercial break comes on. Instead of traditional kitty litter and car commercials, the news comes on, issuing out an Amber Alert. I figure the kid must be pretty important, because no one really interrupts shows for missing kids anymore, and I'm about to change the channel when the girl on the screen makes me stop.

It's me. There's an Amber Alert out _for me._ I don't think they can do that. I'm twenty for crying out loud. These messages are for twelve year olds who went missing after school, not _me_. I shut the TV off, and instead go through my bag again. There's a few of my favorite books in there, and when Krista gets back from the store, that's how she finds me: Laying in bed, reading a book. So casual. 

We eat again, a meal of chicken fingers and Oreos, and then I tell Krista that I'm going to hop in the shower. 

It takes me a minute to figure out how to work the shower, but once it's on I think that I could stay in here forever. The water feels cool against my skin, and I just now realize how long it’s been since I've washed myself. Three days at least. God, that's gross. 

When I get out, I dry myself off, taking an extra long time to get dressed. It feels great to be able to do that; take time to be in the shower and dry your hair and make yourself ready for the day without someone telling you to hurry the fuck up or else. 

I don't miss New York. 

When I come out of the bathroom, I know something is off. The whole atmosphere is different. Krista is staring intently at the TV, then checking her phone, and then looking back to the TV. I can tell she's in very deep concentration. Oh no. 

I sit down on the bed I've claimed as my own, looking at Krista through the corner of my eye. She waits a minute, still watching the screen, before turning to me. I prepare myself for the worst, because I know by now she's probably seen the same alert that I did.

She takes a deep breath then opens her mouth, and I almost cry, because she looks so confused, and something else. Hurt, I think. Hurt doesn't belong on her face; her pretty face and her long gold hair, and ocean eyes. This isn't right, I think she knows it too, but she speaks anyway. 

"Ymir, are you missing?"

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alethiology  
> (n.)  
> the study of truth
> 
> OR.
> 
> Mamihlapinatapai  
> (n.)  
> a look shared by two people, each wishing that the other would initiate something that they both desire but which neither wants to begin

I have to blink once, twice, and then mentally pinch myself to make sure I'm hearing Krista right. Honestly though, I'd be stupid if I wasn't hearing her correctly. The words flow out of her mouth evenly like clouds then brutally punch me in the face, letter by letter.

"Well? Are you?" She asks me.

What do I say? How do I explain all of this to her? How can I  _not_? I mean, the cat is out of the bag and playing with my shoelaces; I can't just  _not_  tell her about everything.

"It's uh, it's complicated, Krista." Okay, those were not the words I wanted to use.

"I can do complicated. Just tell me  _please."_  

Okay. _Okay._ How do I start this?  _Well, I'm running away from the police because I killed someone, but my brother lied and told everyone that I'm goddamn fucking missing_. 

"Remember what I said about my dad?" Krista nods a few times, her eyes never leaving me. I think I might be sweating, but I also can't feel my legs properly, so who knows, really.

"Ymir, did he- Do you need to call the police?"

" _No._ I don-"

"You don't have to tell me. I just want to make sure you're safe." She cuts me off.

"No, it's okay. He um, yeah, he used to hurt me. But then this  _thing_ happened at home and I had to leave." I take a deep breath. "Krista you can't know all of it, okay? Trust me, you don't want to know. I have Marco handling it already, everything is fine."

Krista leaves her spot from the edge of her bed, and takes a place on mine. She's reaches out and grabs my hand, giving it a slight squeeze. I grab her's back, halfway between thinking that it's proper to do so, but at the same time... maybe I don't want her to let go.

Then she pulls back away from me, and I'm more than slightly disappointed. I could've stayed like that forever; sitting on the edge of a bed holding hands with Krista.

"I guess we'll have to leave it to that, yeah?" Krista gives me a crooked smile. "Everyone's got a story, it's okay if you can't share it now. Just, don't let it eat at you."

I wonder what there is about me, maybe my face looks different or something, that makes Krista tell me these things. It's got to be my face. I probably look terrible right now, like death overcooked with a side of green beans. 

Krista jumps up from my bed, and gets back into hers, snuggling under the comforter. I don't know how she's doing it, but in less than 60 seconds she's already acting like nothing happened. Maybe it doesn't concern her enough. Hell, she probably knows than eventually she'll be an Amber Alert kid as well. Maybe she takes some comfort in the fact that she's not alone. 

"So Ymir," My attention snaps back Krista. "Do you think you could pass as someone 21 or older? Because listen, I mapped it out, and there's this little town in Tennessee that I guess doesn't card anyone when you go to buy alcohol. So maybe we could stop there and pick up some wine coolers or something."

Oh my god, _wine coolers._ This girl doesn't know a thing about alcohol. I could get us anything in that store _easy_ , and that wouldn't include fruity, girly, wine coolers. But I've got to give her credit, at least they taste decent. 

"Sure, yeah. I've done it before." I don't even know why she'd want to go out and buy anything like that, but I agree anyway. It's not like it could hurt.

"Great! So we'll make our way there, then keep driving through Illinois, maybe? I want you to see my dad's place."

I nod a few times, almost excited at the possibility of seeing Krista's house. Shit probably looks like a castle, with a moat and everything. I feel like this is some type of fairy tale. I'm the girl from Ella Enchanted, except my curse will always stay with me, and I'll probably never dance on a table with giants while singing Elton John's _Don't Go Breaking My Heart._

"Hey Krista?" She hums back a response.

"So, you're like totally 100% homo, right?" 

"Yep."

"Me too." I whisper from under my blankets. 

Krista turns off the side lamp between us. I can hear her burrow deeper into the sheets. 

"I know." There is a smile hidden somewhere in her voice.

When I try to look at Krista through the darkness and her mound of blankets, she's already asleep. Her last words ring through my head though, and it's enough to keep me smiling all night. 

Maybe I stand a chance. A tiny one, sure, but at least its there.

-

Krista makes me drive her car to get us to Tennessee. She claims that she's tired of not being able to control the music, and that I should give it a try. I'm going to make us crash so fast, we won't even make it out town. I haven't driven in over a year, and my license is three years old and probably not even on me by now. I used to keep it on my nightstand, but I'm sure that I forgot to grab it before I left New York. If we get pulled over, I'm _screwed._

I forget to flick on the blinker at least eight times out of ten, and I almost run a red light, all before hitting the highway. This is going horribly for me. I'm secretly wishing that Krista will tell me to pull over at some point so we can switch places, but she's cuddled up in the passenger seat with a blanket awkwardly around her seatbelt, and I know she's not moving any time soon.

I drive for a solid three hours before I have to stop and get us gas before I end up running out on the side of the road. I play with my hair, trying to make myself a little less noticeable, just in case someone has seen my picture between last night and today, then I hop out of the car.

It's hot as all Hell outside, but the gas station is cool, and I try to waste some time in it. I pick up a tourist map of the States and a couple bags of candies before making my way to the cash register. A row of hair dye on one of the aisles catches my attention, and I turn back to grab one. They're all cheap, temporary, and come in nothing but fire engine red, but I buy one anyway. When I get to the counter, I ask the guy managing the register if he has any scissors. He gives me a funny look for a second, and I realize that I'll probably have to explain this one out.

"I'm on a road trip with my-" I glance out the glass doors to where Krista is, still in the car. I blush redder than the hair dye. "With my girlfriend, and we need a pair. She's trying to make a travel scrapbook."

I roll my eyes as playfully as I can, then toss my hair behind my shoulder. His eyes noticeably widen, then he tells me that he'll look in the back for some. Oh _gross_ , my attempts to flirt with this guy are actually working.

He comes back with a pair of bright green safety scissors, still in their packaging.

"We keep some school stuff in the supply cabinet. They're a dollar." Man, I got this guy wrapped around my finger. Hook, line, and _sinker._

I smile as best as I can, and pay for my stuff. When I make my way back to Krista I take a look at my recipe. In scribbly handwriting is the worker's phone number and a smiley face. I laugh out loud to myself, then toss it back into the plastic bag.

"What's so funny?" Krista pops her head out of the car window, while I pump gas.

"The guy in there." I nod my head back to the building. "He gave me his phone number after I told him you were my girlfriend. Probably wanting in on some action."

"You're _what?_ "

"My _girlfriend,_ Kris. I had to get scissors one way or another. It worked." Krista's eyes look like they're about to pop out of her face, and for a second I think that maybe I shouldn't have told her about it. Then she bursts into a fit of giggles, crinkles forming at the corners of her eyes. She is so pretty.

"That's _great_ , Ymir." She tells me as I get back into the front seat. "But what'd you need scissors for?"

"Cutting my hair. Tonight."

"Cool! Can I do it? I used to cut my little brother's hair- I mean, before I almost chopped off his ear. But he had great hair at least."

I laugh again, not at all scared by the fact that Krista cold probably cut off my whole head with a pair of safety scissors.

"Okay, sure. Can I do yours? If you want to, though. I don't want to-"

"Of course! But you have to get me some of this red, I've wanted to be Ariel since I was seven."

"I am _not_ going back in there, you want red, you're buying it yourself." I hand Krista a ten dollar bill, and she hops out of the car, taking an even five minutes to go in and come back out with two boxes of fire truck red hair dye.

"They don't expire for like three years, so I got plenty enough to last till then."

"Are you seriously going to dye it?"

" _Yes,_ Ymir. Don't ask dumb questions. Now drive onward!" Krista dramatically flings out her arms, gesturing to the street ahead of us.

There's a _Welcome to Tennessee_ sign up the road, and Krista makes me pull over so she can take a photo with it.

"This is going in the scrapbook." I joke while we she forces me into her picture. One of the first selfies I ever take, and it's with the prettiest girl in the world. Lucky me.

An hour later, we stop at a small town and grab some pancakes at an IHOP. Krista pulls out my map and stretches it over our table while I order drinks for us.

"So, we're here." She points to a long rectangle. "And we're going... Here? Right?"

She moves across to California, circling it with her finger.

"Right."

Our waitress comes by with sodas and goes to take our order. She peers over our map and asks, 

"Where are you guys going?"

"Los Angeles!" Krista chirps. I kick her lightly under the table, trying to tell her silently that this is confidential. Just me and her, and no one else to possibly tell any authorities out there.

"It's pretty there. How are you getting there?" I glance over to her name tag. Okay _Mikasa_ , quit being nosy and get me my waffles.

She seems to sense my discomfort because she reaches out a hand to me and says,

"Sorry, I might be intruding. I used to live in that area with one of my friends, so I was just trying to- I don't know, help with your travels." Her voice dies down, leaving us with an awkward silence.

"No that's fine! We'd love help." I kick Krista again. "We've been driving but I don't know what route to take. Do you know any?"

Kris, _shut up_.

"I don't but I my friend lives a bit away. I could call her up for help. She's always willing to house someone too, if you need it." Mikasa is getting way too friendly over here. At least she doesn't seem to recognize either of us, and she's just telling us this out of genuine compassion. Nice people are a weakness of mine, and Mikasa is right in the same area as Krista.

"Great! But um, could I have my pancakes first? Then maybe we could talk more. I'm _starving_." Krista tells her. Mikasa turns as red as the shirt she's wearing, then writes down our orders and leaves. I have a feeling she'll be back.

"Please don't ever do that again." I say.

"Why not? She was nice. And the hotel rooms are getting so cramped, an actual bedroom would feel nice for once."

"Because we are both now considered missing people. What if she's seen us before. What if her friend has? We're going to get in trouble."

"Okay, I get it. How about we stay in town tonight, I'll cut your hair, then we'll stay with her friend tomorrow. Just for a night."

I chew on my lip while I think about it. It still seems like a crappy idea, but Krista seems to have confidence it.

"And besides, by the time I'm done fixin' you up, she won't even be able to recognize us. We'll just seem like a couple of girls spending our daddy's money on a  cross country trip. No big deal."

"Okay, I guess." I nod slowly, coming to an agreement with her. "But one night _only_."

Mikasa comes back ten minutes late with our plates of food, and her friends phone number.

"I'll give her a call in a minute, and tell her about it. Her name's Sasha and this is where she'll be at. Just tell her your names; she's friendly I promise."

Krista thanks her a few times too many, then she leaves back to the kitchen. What a weird series of events. First I run off with Princess Krista with no thought in mind of where to go, then some lady at a restaurant directs us onto a pathway. How could she do that, just help and be nice to us? How are people capable of doing things just because it's the correct thing to do. Well there's a lesson to tell Papa about: Help people because it's the right thing, not because it'll get you something in return.

When we go to pay and leave, Mikasa greets us at the register, telling me good luck on our trip.

"Oh and here, call me if you need anything. I know people everywhere in this country."

She leaves her number on our receipt. I decide to keep this one, tucking it into the sun visor once we're back in the car.

We're not in the same town that Krista tracked down for us to originally go to; but luck would have it that the grocery store here allows me to buy two six-packs of wine coolers without an ID. Krista seems ecstatic when I get meet her in the parking lot.

"Have you ever actually drank Kris?"

"I had champagne once a few years ago. But I guess technically, no." A light blush creeps up her cheeks. Great, I just bought alcohol for an actual twelve year old.

Krista gives me the directions to a motel, then hands me her credit card, ordering me to get us a room.

I ask the woman in the office for a two bed room, but instead of handing me a room key, she shakes her head and tells me,

"Sorry we're all booked. We have a few one beds vacant though."

I shift from foot to foot for a second, then tell her to give me a minute while I talk to my friend.

"Well shit, they only have one bedrooms." I hang my head inside the car window, telling Krista the bad news. "Are there any other places around here?"

"That's okay, check one out anyways. We'll get a cot or something, I'm sure they have them. It'll be like a sleepover!"

"Krista, this _whole trip_ has been a huge sleepover." My forehead crinkles in confusion as I go back in to get a room. Why would she be fine with that? I mean, I know sometimes on Sundays with someone makeup on, I can be mildly pretty, but I didn't think Krista would think I was so attractive, she'd be ready to hop into bed with me already.

I throw myself onto the bed as soon as we're in the room. It's only three o'clock, if that, and I already want to pop open a few of Krista's girly drinks and get wasted. But Krista is acting way too possessive over the bottles, and I don't think I'm going to be able to get my hands on _one_ , much less a whole pack.

I watch her struggle with the cap to one of the bottles for a good few minutes, before she finally tosses it onto the bed.

"Open that for me."

I obey, sliding the top against the edge of the nightstand. The drink opens with a slight _pop_.

"Anything else you need done, master?" I ask sarcastically. She responds meekly,

"Open the rest when I need them."

I laugh, then flick on the TV, not even bothering to get my own drink. I'll let Krista have fun first. Then maybe I'll take some photographic evidence of her being a drunk idiot later in the evening.

An few hours later, Krista is piss drunk on roughly four wine coolers, and I've seen the full first season of Criminal Minds. _What a lightweight_ , I think, as she hops around the room, singing to the theme music of my show. She's making up her own lyrics, and they're horribly off key, but she's still the best thing my eyes have laid upon.

Krista hops up onto the bed with me, shoving a drink into my hands.

"You deserve it, Ymir. You're an amazing driver." I take a sip of it, then set it on the nightstand next to me. Maybe later.

I stare up at where Krista is. She's sitting awfully close to me, for someone who's just a friend. A cuddly friend, maybe. She is so pretty, with her hair up in a bun, the overhead light shining around her like a halo. 

"Hey Kris?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I tell you something?" 

"Of course! Hang on!" She gets up to grab another drink, while I adjust in bed. When she gets back, she slides right next to me, leaning her head against my shoulder. Then she starts babbling about Matthew Gray Gubler, completely forgetting about me. Maybe that was a good choice of hers. She probably won't want to hear what I want to tell her anyway.

A few minutes passes by, and in the middle of her talking I decide that I've hidden enough from her.

"Krista, I killed him." I whisper. I almost don't hear myself. "I killed him and now I'm running away."

I can feel a few tears prickle at the corners of my eyes, but I don't allow them to run down my face. Krista turns to me a few seconds later, and I prepare for the worst. Instead she repositions herself next to me, and whispers almost as quietly as I had,

"My name's not Krista. It's Historia."

Wait, _what._

"I had to change it when he disowned me. I am actually paid to keep my existence hidden. Can you believe how fucked up that is?" When I look back down to her, I see that she's barely crying, too. She reaches up to my face, placing a tiny hand against my cheek. I freeze, every muscle in my body tensing up. I've never been in this position with anyone before, let alone perfect Krista. Or Historia, or whatever she wants to be called.

"He hurt you Ymir. I wish my dad was dead too." She looks at me straight in the eyes, but what comes next surprises me so much, I could've been floating and I wouldn't have noticed.

 

She kisses me.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> น้ำใจ ( pronounced ‘nam-tzI or 'nam-jI)  
> (n.)  
> sincere kindness; true willingness to help others, even before they ask, without expecting anything in return

Holy shit.

h o l y s h i t.

I'm lying in a motel bed at midnight with Krista's lips pressed against mine. And she totally wanted it. Well, maybe. I guess you don't really know what you want after drinking a six pack of wine coolers, but until morning comes, we'll just say this was all wanted and okay with her. 

This is heaven. I could stay like this forever; never letting go of Krista.

But her wild antics don't keep me from popping my eyes open and pushing her back a bit. This was still a huge surprise. Krista sits up a bit straighter and kisses me again, despite me pushing back on her shoulders. This is nice and all, but it's not okay either. She's not going to be able to remember anything once she passes out, and I can't just take advantage of her in the meantime. I might've done some fucked up things within the past week, but I'm not  _that_ bad. I don't want to be stranded in the middle of Tennessee because she kicked me out of her car after figuring out what could've happened tonight. 

I'm not going that far, and I don't know if I ever will. Even if I get to know Krista for the next 20 years, I think I'd still be afraid of breaking her. Krista has porcelain skin and rosy cheeks like a china doll, and someone as forceful as me could shatter her into a million pieces if they're not gentle enough. 

I push her away once more, and finally her face detaches from mine like some ultra-cute sci-fi alien. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, trying my hardest not to look back at Krista.

"I'm uh-I'm going to go take a shower." I glance over to the grocery bag sitting on the counter. The red hair dye is still in it, waiting for me. As I make my way to the bathroom, I grab a box, tossing it from hand to hand. "Don't drink anymore, 'kay?"

"Sure thing, Ymir." Krista reluctantly nods a few times while playing with the sheets of the bed. They must seem very interesting to her.  

Once I'm in the bathroom, I lock the door behind me, and sit on the toilet seat for ten minutes at least. I read the directions to the dye over and over enough that I could recite them by heart by now. Finally I stand up, facing the tiny mirror that's on the wall opposite of the shower. I try to waste of much time as I can while in here. I play with my hair, and fix my clothes, and shake the bottle of dye so much I think it's going to explode. Eventually I start putting it in my hair, streaking it through darker strands. I'm not even trying to put it on evenly, and I know it's going to look absolutely terrible in the morning. I coat over as much as I can, until my bangs are the color of Crayola crayons. I realize when I'm done that I didn't bleach my hair beforehand, and god this is going to look gross. 

I let the dye sit in for at least an hour; way longer than what the directions tells me to. Then I hop in the shower, running the water cold. It's freezing against my skin, but it wakes me up a bit. Brings me back to reality and not the hazy world I had been trudging through for the last hour and a half while in the bathroom. The water runs dark red when I start to rinse my hair. I have to close my eyes while the dye stains my back and the tub. When I open an eye to see if it's all out, the water around my feet is the color of blood. I let out the quietest shriek I can manage, but it must've been louder than I thought because Krista knocks on the door a second later.

"You okay?"  

"Yeah, yeah. Just dropped a shampoo bottle on my foot. 'M good." There's not even a full bottle in here. Just the mini sized ones that look like they're half empty already. Probably from the last people who rented our room, but I'm not in the mood to complain to management. 

When the water finally starts to run pink, I get out, quickly drying myself off. Then I sit on the top of the toilet of another 15 minutes, trying to think of how I'm going to get out of all this mess. Do I just walk out casually like nothing happened? Do I confront Krista about everything? I wish I could stay in the bathroom all night, but I know that's just plain disrespectful. I sit for a few more minutes, before getting up and setting a hand on the doorknob. I take in a few breathes-why is this bothering me so much- then swing it open. 

The room is silent save for the sounds of Criminal Minds still on the TV. Krista is passed out on the bed, half of her body covered with a blanket. She probably fell asleep on her own, but I still shake her awake to make sure she's okay. She grumbles a few times in her sleep before opening an eye, then both.

"What do you want?" She snaps at me. 

"I'm making sure you're not dying of alcohol poisoning. You had like four drinks; I didn't think you'd crash that fast."

Krista rolls over to one side of the bed, letting out a small _oh_ along the way. She pats the empty spot on the bed,

"Come snuggle with me. I'm freezing."

"Can't. I need my hair to dry first. Go back to sleep." I pull the covers back over her. She'll be alright until morning, and hopefully in that time frame she won't end up throwing up all over the sheets. 

I grab my bag from off of the counter and dig in, trying to find some pain killers. Krista could have the weakest hangover ever tomorrow, but I'm sure she'll probably think she's dying. When she told me she had drank before, I'm sure she was lying to me. I set two of the little white pills on the nightstand, alongside a plastic cup full of water. She'll need them. 

Before I get into bed myself, I wrap a towel around my hair and turn the air conditioner off. Once I'm settled in bed, Krista pushes some of the blankets towards me. I gladly take them, noticing now how cold it really is. She throws an arm lazily across me, and like that, I fall asleep. 

When I wake up, it's already 8:30 in the morning, and I have  _so_ overslept. I throw my feet over the edge of the bed, preparing myself for the monster that _could_ be a hung over Krista, but when I turn around, she's not there. She not in our motel room at all, not even taking a shower. I panic for a second, thinking that maybe Krista remembered everything and that she's abandoned me, but her keys are still on the counter alongside her phone. I pull on my shoes, grabbing a room key before I go outside. I search the whole area before I find her next to a soda machine getting a Coke. 

"I left a note." She says before I even have time to open my mouth. She must've heard me and my elephant steps first. 

"I didn't see one."

"It stuck it to the TV."

"How are you not dying right now? You're like, _a baby_ , you should be in pain."

She turns to me, one hand on her hip, the other holding a Honey Bun. 

"It wasn't even that bad, Ymir." She grabs the Coke from the bin on the machine. "Don't worry about  _me._ Worry about yourself. How are you going to keep every legal force off your ass?" 

Oh crap. So she  _does_ remember. 

"I don't know. I've made it this far, right?" 

Krista presses her lips into a thin line, obviously not satisfied with my answer. 

"I guess. But, we have a  _lot_ to talk about. C'mon." She motions for me to follow her, as she walks past me and towards our room. I'm in trouble, I know it. She's going to kick me to the curb, and never look back. I'm potentially dangerous at this point, and no one is going to want to stay with me now. This would be the perfect time to call up Marco and tell him to somehow get me out of here. Something stops me from pulling out my phone and getting a hold of him. I don't know what, but something stirs way down in me, and a little voice keeps telling me to follow her; follow her because she's not leaving.

I catch up to where Krista is, and grab onto her hand. It's a crazy stupid impulse move, buts she holds mine in hers like it's natural, and gives it a light squeeze. I smile to myself, my cheeks pushing up to my eyes. I probably look like an idiot. We walk in silence all the way to our room, where Krista lets go of me and unlocks the door.

"So... Historia. What's that about?" I try to ease us into some moderate small talk.

"It's just my birth name. I had to change it when I was cut off from the family."

"You _had_ to?"

"Yeah," She drawls out her words. "But it’s no big deal, I like Krista more. And I get a monthly bribery to keep me from revealing myself. You want to help me with this?

Krista holds up the pair of gas station scissors in front of me.

"Um sure, yeah. You're cutting it?"

She hums in response, walking over to the large mirror outside the bathroom. I cringe when she pulls out a piece of hair and snips it off. It falls to the carpet in tiny strands spraying everywhere, and I think the maid who has to clean this room is going to hate us forever. I snap out of my daze, and join Krista over by the mirror, taking the scissors from her. I brush through her hair with my fingers before cutting off another section. Piece by piece Krista's princess hair falls to the ground. I wait for it to slowly turn back to brown like in the movie. But with each cut, her hair stays golden, and I mourn for the chopped off parts. When I'm completely done Krista's hair falls just above her shoulders, the ends brushing her shirt when she moves. She takes the scissors back from me, and starts to style the front as I try to sweep up the yellow locks. When I dump them into the trash, I can't help but stare at it like a complete creep. Her hair was so beautiful and long. It was Rapunzel hair, and now she's just some mediocre Cinderella. But she seems happier with it short, as I glance over to her playing with it in the mirror. The Chinese used to have this ritual thing where if you cut off your hair, it's like saying that you're cutting off the past; the old you. Or maybe it was the Japanese, I can't remember. Either way though, maybe that's how Krista feels. Like she's someone new. I watch as she pulls it up into a ponytail, and I try not to mourn too much for what was lost, because that would be _extremely_ weird.

"I left it long enough to still braid it and stuff," I turn back to Krista. "Was that okay?"

"I love it." She says. Then she walks over to me and reaches up to kiss my cheek. She has to stand on the tips of her toes to get to me, which is terribly embarrassing. Stupid over-sized titan genes. I guess she was okay with kissing me last night though, which is encouraging. My cheeks burn bright red as I ask her,

"So, are you gonna dye it too?" I tug on a piece that had fallen out.

"No, I think I'll wait. I like yours though. It looks edgy." She smiles, and touched the tips of my own hair. When she tells me, I almost convince myself that it does look a bit cool. But in all honesty, it looks awful. It's a mix of muddy brown and dark red, and I somehow missed half of the back of my head, making it look splotchy.

"Thanks. Yours looks better."

Krista laughs in response. She turns away from me and starts placing the stuff that was scattered around the room back into her suitcase. It's taken me four days of staring at it in the back seat of her car to notice that its bright pink and monogrammed with her name. Jesus Christ, she's like a baby Elle Woods. I help her out, shoving my clothes into my bag. When we're done Krista grabs our room key and well... I guess it's time to go.  

We make you way down out of town, following directions from Krista's GPS on her phone. Mikasa's friend lives all the way on the other side of the state, giving us with a whole six hours of driving. Krista calls the number we were given when we reach a halfway mark. We park at a rest stop out in the middle of nowhere, and I can hear the guy who answers the phone even while outside of the car. He's seriously loud as all hell. He yells out a  _Yeah, let me get her_  and then screams out something incoherent. Krista pulls the phone away from her ear.

"Hi Sasha, this is Krista. I hope Mikasa told you about me?" Krista glances up at me through the window. I look back and give her an encouraging smile.

I stray off from where the car is parked, walking around the grass area, kicking up pieces of dirt. I stay outside until Krista is done with her phone call. She talks for at least ten minutes, and then waves her hand out of the car window and calling out my name.

"C'mon loser, we're going...uh" She pauses for a moment. "You know, Regina George said it better anyways."

I laugh at her, shaking my head in mock disappointment.

"You know, you didn't really strike me as a mean girl."

I slam the car door shut. Krista is driving before I can even pull on my seatbelt.

"What's the rush?"

"There's no rush." Krista avoids eye contact with me, which is unsettling. Maybe her common sense is getting back to her after all this time.

We drive in silence, the radio going in and out when we pass through cities. An hour later, Krista grabs her phone from the dashboard, and taps a few things into it. We swerve into the other lane on accident, but when we're realigned into our own, Krista looks satisfied with herself. I try to lean over and see what she's added to the GPS. She swats me away and tells me not to peek.

Krista finally pulls over onto a stray road, driving us past a sign that welcomes us to Chattanooga. Now I may not be a complete genius, but I took a year of Geography, and I know how off course we probably are.

"Okay, what is in Chattanooga that made you go this far off our path?" I ask.

"You'll see." A tiny smirk tugs at the corners of Krista's mouth.

Up ahead there's a sign that tells us that an aquarium is on our right. I think it's pretty cool, I mean, I've never really been to an aquarium, or a zoo for that matter. But I expect that Krista is just taking us somewhere fancy for lunch. And then she turns to the right.

My inner eight-year-old self feels like screaming. Screaming because this place is like, _hella_ expensive. Before I can protest Krista tells me,

"We have a family pass. Don't worry about it."

It turns out I was right. The first thing we do once we're in is leave to eat lunch. And from there on out, our afternoon is amazing. Krista keeps her phone on her and takes pictures of all of the animals. We make friends with an otter, something I probably wouldn't have been able to do without Krista next to me. Then Krista drags me off to see some turtles and sharks and _god-_ every sea creature I can think of. We finish off our day with an early dinner at four. Krista goes back through her camera roll and shows me all of her photos. I'm shocked to see that I'm in most of them. Halfway through French fires and hamburgers, Krista pulls me into a selfie. I smile and even let out a childish _cheese!_ before leaning back into my own seat.

"This was great, huh?" Krista asks.

"Yeah. I liked it," I clear me throat out of nervousness. "Was this like, a date? Or do you just really like aquatic animals?"

She thinks about it for a second before telling me, "Both."

We leave right after, speeding through the city. Krista lets me know that she told Sasha that we'd meet her at around ten, and then we're off. We switch on and off driving, making our way all the way through Tennessee. I know we're almost at the border as I pass by a _You Are Now Leaving_ sign. Krista points all the way across the dash and makes me take a sharp left turn. I continue driving for 20 minutes, thinking we're almost to our destination. I'm a little nervous, admittedly. These people that are going to house us for the night could be the difference between a good night’s sleep and a night in jail. I turn onto a dirt road, just as Krista's phone tells me that my destination is on our right.

I look out the passenger side window, and there is no doubt our destination sitting across from us. As I inspect the building in front of us more, I realize that this thing is probably like, a hovel. It's short and squatty; it kind of looks like an overgrown barn. There's a light on at the front porch, where a young woman stands; waiting for us. I have to say, it at least looks homey.

I park near the porch, and wait as Krista hops out and greets the woman on the stairs. She's taller than Krista, maybe even my height, with long red hair pulled back into a ponytail. I wonder if that's Sasha. I hope, because she seems nice enough as she pulls Krista into an unexpected hug. The two of them speak for a few minutes, before Krista taps on my window and tells me that we can get settled inside.

I take a deep breath, wiping my hands down my face. I send a silent prayer to God that no one will recognize us, then swing open the car door.  

 


End file.
